


Bones in the Closet

by Grain_Crain



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, M/M, Smut, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 16:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grain_Crain/pseuds/Grain_Crain
Summary: The benefit of built-in wardrobe is that it won’t topple, or squeak as long as whoever inside doesn’t touch the door; and these two horny men shall put such facts to good use.





	Bones in the Closet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MothMother](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothMother/gifts).

> Happy belated birthday, [catfacedcryptid](https://catfacedcryptid.tumblr.com/)! Made me realise smut is a real hard challenge for me and man was it 'hard.' ;)

Picture this. England is damp and cloudy in general so when a heat wave strikes, every contact becomes disgustingly sticky. It’s a humid hell for those who sweats a waterfall, unless if you are from somewhere that has hotter climate. Compared to Hong Kong, Lesion always found that summer life in Hereford Base is tolerable at the least. That’s possibly due to the fact that he used to work in a shipyard by the seaside ever since he was a child, which was one way to build heat tolerance. Therefore some people were baffled at how Lesion appeared energised no matter how scorching the day may be. Obstacle course? A little stain patch on his back. Shooting range? Not a bead of sweat falling beneath the brow. Treating his fellow comrades with tasty stir-fry and a bit of fireshow by shaking the wok? People couldn’t have welcomed the flame in such manner when all they want is to have something greasy and filling to eat after a hot and hard day at work. Lesion is the man who can spit at sun’s face and laugh at its ray of doom. A mere heat ain’t got nothing on him.

On the contrary, Smoke is a walking soggy towel and the fact that his uniform consists of rubbery latex doesn’t really work on his favour. Ever since he’s known as an armpit patch lad back in high school, he began to wander the streets shirtless with a white singlet slinging around his waist in case the weather became remotely cool. It’s a habit that stayed with him; he felt more confident to show off the upper torsos especially after he learned to box at Belfast during his early military years. He worked his way around the sun. Sheet of gleaming moisture accentuates the well-defined muscles and it gives Smoke an ego boost that’s already abundant within him.

However, this summer is thriving to compare itself to the so-called purgatory. Some people can deny the evidence of global warming, and yet it’s visibly apparent as it renders mortals into lumps of flesh sponge that cannot retain the sweat. The situation becomes worse when the air conditioning system breaks down, and that forces the majority of operators to escape and bunker down at better places. Library, bank, department store. Anywhere else that has public funding to ensure comfort. Such fortune is granted upon those who are off-duty, which means that there are unlucky souls trapped in the base, waiting to be summoned before they are melted into the drain.

“I’m going for a shower.” 

“That’s the third time this afternoon.” Lesion watches Ying as she gathers her towels and sanitary items that she left out in the sun. Despite being wet only half an hour ago, they are already dry and ready to use.

“You won’t understand.” She glares at him, kicks the door open and leaves in haste. He disregards her temper and continues to read whatever is on the phone, then a thought sparks which makes him check the roster. SAS, SDU, GSUTR and GIGN are currently stationed in Hereford, and he had seen the French troops scheduling themselves in the gym for the entire day. Probably Montagne’s idea as the man believes that comradeship is strengthened by facing adversity together, hence physical conditioning in smouldering blaze is an apparent solution. Lesion pities the recruits and the other specialists, but then it also means that a fellow workaholic Thatcher couldn’t plan his men for a hardcore traning. The SAS team must be lounging around somewhere in their free time and that’s a perfect timing to message Smoke for a meet up.

[Where are you?]

Lesion expects slower response, so he is pleasantly surprised to see Smoke’s name on the screen within a minute.

[The dorm. Cum on over, babe ;)]

The pun is cringe worthy and that’s one of a few charms that Smoke possesses. Lesion scoffs as he leaves the couch that he’s been resting on for quite some time. Back and waist prickle at sudden whoosh of air seeping through the sweat-soaked area of the shirt, then the warmth of his own flesh returns as he walks along the sun-lit corridor. He knocks on the door that leads to the SAS dormitory and a gruff yells back incoherently.

“Hello?” Lesion knocks again in uncertainty.

“I said come in, for god’s sake.” Judging by the attitude and rudeness, it must be Thatcher who’s grumpier than usual. That’s not a good sign.

“Well, excuse me,” Lesion opens the door as he replies in a similar manner, “I’m here for James.” When he enters, the first thing to notice is a waft of manly musk. No, not the arousing kind; it’s the stench that reminds Lesion of middle school bathroom, a place where all the boys had to change into gym gears. Cramped and small, while the girls could use the classroom that was far more spacious. It’s the exact kind of nightmare that Lesion would rather not relive. The room is relatively less hot than outside, so that’s a small plus.

“Who’s that?” Sledge is heard somewhere over the couch. From what Lesion hears, there’s not an ounce of energy left in that man. The most notable feature is one pale leg sticking out like a bleached seashore branch. Drained, dry and lifeless just like an off-white t-shirt that’s hanging loosely on a built-in wardrobe next to him.

“Oh, it’s you.” Thatcher crawls out of a kitchen counter, revealing hairy pectorals and abs. The older man still has a remnant of his former glory, but let’s face it. His figure isn’t as chiseled or sculptured as the younger SAS do. Still, he is a decently built veteran who is walking around the dorm in nothing but an union-jack patterned boxer shorts. 

Lesions’ lips part in astonishment, then hides it away with a trade-mark smirk, “My, I didn’t know you had a thing for me.”

“Shut it. I don’t need Porter on my back, screaming like a buffoon that has its banana stolen or summat,” Thatcher waves to invite Lesion in and slumps on a stool, “What brings you here?”

“Looking for my favourite naughty boy.” Lesion pours himself a glass of water from a jug. He hears tinks of ice cubes and realises it’s a chilled Earl Grey.

“He might be in the bathroom.” Sledge stretches an arm out to point at the far right corner. Lesion follows the direction, walks past the couch and takes a side glance at Sledge who is laying down along the mattress. Elongated and melting away in his black briefs. Just as Lesion place a hand on the knob, the door opens up and reveals Mute drying his hair from a quick shower. The youngest is also dressed in a similar fashion as his seniors, except he had the decency to wear shorts and singlets rather than just underwear.

“Hey.” Mute greets and strolls past for the cool beverage.

“Mark, bring me some too.” Sledge yawns.

“Get it yourself.” A snide remark from Mute usually break Smoke in fits of laughter, if only he is out here in the living room with them. 

“Where is he?” 

“He might be,” Thatcher slaps his forehead as if he remembers what he wishes to forget, “That’s right. Fucking hell, he’s in the bedroom. That gobshite is in there. Hey, do me a favour and drag him out, would you? Maybe he’ll act better around ye.”

“I bet he’ll jump at the sight of you anyway.” Sledge finally gets up, still nudging Mute to bring him a cup.

“Wait, don’t bring him out. We banished him for a reason.” Mute moves the jug away and proceeds to sit next to Thatcher. 

“But we can’t keep him in there. Do you want everything to smell like shite when we sleep later?”

“I can hear you!” A rustling movement and bit of stomps is heard behind the bedroom door, “Don’t make me a cryptid, damn it.” Hence the so-called exiled creature comes out, in his full natural splendor. Thatcher gains another ten years worth of wrinkles at the sight of what’s dangling between Smoke’s thighs. Mute looks away to find his phone, and Sledge whoops a cheer and asks Smoke to bring him tea.

“James.” Lesion’s eyes flash in astonishment at his boyfriend in birthday suit. 

“Tze Long, babe. Do you like what you see?” A naked pelvic thrust in mid-air is capable of mental damage and elation all at the same time, purely depends on who are the witnesses.

“Sure.” Lesion can’t help but smile, a reaction that makes the others squint.

Thatcher seems to be the most tormented from their interactions. He rushes to pick up clothes from the bedroom, all fresh and dry for himself, Mute and Sledge, “Alright. Come on boys, we’re heading out.” 

“But Mike! We finally got the fan working.” Mute complains as he is pushed out of the dorm.

“Porter isn’t going to put on his clothes because his boyfriend likes it. If you want to hear what they are about to do, you can stay.” Thatcher is quick to roll Sledge off the couch and drag him along the floor. The last thing Lesion hears from the lot is a faint rasp of Sledge yearning for one sip of icy cold goodness, but Smoke is quick shut them away and shine a teeth-bearing glee. 

“Oh no. We’re alone and I’m buttnaked right next to you. What shall I do?” Smoke inches closer and cups Lesion’s cheeks for a light peck.

“If this is your plan to make this whole place reek of sex, I guess it’s a success.” Lesion returns the affection by pulling Smoke in for a kiss. 

“You know me. I don’t plan much,” A deep low velvety tone sets the mood, “But when I do, I make it work.” A few nibbles at first and then their tongues share the closed place between them. Lesion takes a sharp intake of breath when a hand snakes under his shirt, caressing the lines along the abs and wing muscles. 

Sensing slight stickiness glossing over his nicely dry shirt, Lesion leans back before it’s drenched by the infamously sweaty Brit, “Let me lose a layer.”

“Darling, let me suggest a better idea.” Smoke chases after Lesion for another kiss that starts from the lips. He licks the dip between neck and shoulder, collarbone, and sensitive nipple; all which encourages Lesion to sigh in comfortable pleasure. The brushing of lips descends closer to the belly button and when Lesion relaxes against the counter, Smoke swoops his head inside of the shirt.

“ _ 乜 _ !” Lesion yelps in surprise and would have knocked some of the cups off if Smoke didn’t hold him down by the hip.

“Don’t fret,” A waft of coolness sends chills down Lesion’s spine when Smoke inhales. It’s as if the Brit has an agenda to live off of the hot air trapped in such a small space, an impromptu tent that exudes the sweetest bodily scent from all directions, “Funny how you aren’t as sweaty as I thought you would be.”

“Jealous?” When Lesion looks down under the neck of his shirt, he is met with a pair of brown eyes twinkling back at him. Cocked eyebrows and lines of wrinkles forming around the cheekbone from a giddy chuckle. Such sight renders Smoke adorable and sexy when he goes down on Lesion for many different occasions.

“Not really. You’ll be drenched soon.” Smoke stick out a tongue above the belly button and starts to stand up slowly, making a trail as he wipes a thin layer of sweat along the midriff. Perky nipples are tickled and teased while the wandering hands put pressure on the growing bulge beneath. Hot stream of blood course through Lesion from head to toe and throbbing tension makes him twitch. 

“So eager.” Lesion gasps at a pinching sensation below his right rib, and that’s the first hickey of the day. When Smoke wraps around his waist for a lift, Lesion holds onto the said man’s shoulder.

“You bet I am. I held it down to enjoy the fullest.” The cheeky remark is playful at surface level, and yet the way Smoke lowering the tone and volume accentuate his hunger for undivided attention. Smoke places his lover down on the empty corner of kitchen counter and starts to kiss and lick around the crotch region, a hint for imminent oral sex while it’s all a fleeting tease. The mixed fume of sweat and saliva is trapped under the shirt that’s slowly becoming soaked. It’s a borderline euphoria and torture. For a man who claims to have not masturbated in a while, Smoke is uncannily patient.

“Come on, James,” Lesion wraps his legs around the Brit’s waist. Even though there are pants and underwear in the way, he can feel that Smoke’s erection is at its full length, “It’s getting too hot.”

“Wait.” Smoke’s reply is more of a muffled chuckle as he bites on the edge of Lesion’s pants. Rather than pulling it off completely, Smoke drags just enough to reveal the tip of head that’s glistening in anticipation. A peck, lick and smack to only moisten that little area. Withstanding against the mild edging has been bearable under normal circumstances, but Lesion’s resolve is wavering due to heatwave that’s making him hazy. 

“James,” Lesion strokes the spiky brown hair below his waistline, “You aren’t doing much to have me drenched.”

“Oh really?” Smoke grins and slides the pants down further. Lesion shudders at those moist lips hovering over, breathing hot air that’s akin to scorching vapour due to heightened sensitivity.

“Yeah.” Lesion ignores a drop of sweat trailing down on his back.

“I don’t think you’re drenched yet. Still looking fresh and dry.” This isn’t his boyfriend anymore. It’s a succubus in human costume rubbing the skin that folds over the glans.

“Please. I just-” Lesion was about to beg, then something clicks in his head, “Maybe I don't need to sweat. There’s plenty of other fluid that can be  _ pumped  _ out of my body.” 

“Is that so?” Smoke licks the length with the tip of his tongue.

“Will you  _ please _ help me out?” They share a wink and this is why the two click quite well together.

“Of course.” Smoke readily dives in, engulfing Lesion in one go. Smouldering slither with tongue and palate isn’t enough at this point. Lesion suppresses the urge to grasp Smoke’s head and thrust for an instant gratification because he knows for a fact that Smoke will return the roughness by ten fold. Don’t get him wrong, folks. Lesion has no problem in being fucked senseless, but it’s significantly better to enjoy the connection slower and more thorough. He isn’t the type of drink a can of soda in one-go.

“That’s it. Slow down for me,” Despite the immediate desire for peak of pleasure, Lesion gives Smoke a gentle pat. 

“You’ve no idea the amount of restraint I’m putting on.” Smoke tilts sideways to rub his inner cheek against the erect dick. He fastens the pace and that prompts Lesion to jerk his hip backward when nerves tingle in a sense of wild ripples. 

In breathy gasps and yelps, Lesion jolts when Smoke sucks all the way from bottom to top and smacks the exposed head, “I said slow, damn it.”

“Come on. I can’t even do a little?” Smoke catches the pout on his lover’s lips, almost looking like an adorable pair of beaks to be pecked on. They share a few more kisses and banter full of delightful teases, then some more intimate foreplay on sensitive spots such as neck and rib cages. Smoke plans to leave hickeys and bite marks on Lesion’s inner thighs, but he’s forced to stop when they clamp tight around him.

“James, stop.”

“What now, darling?” Smoke rolls his eyes and pries them away for a room to breath.

Lesion taps hard on Smoke’s shoulder “Someone’s coming.” 

Both of them are high on alert. Upon staying dead silent and whipping their heads toward the door, they can hear a faint clinks. Metallic grinding, a few botched turns and a short curse word under her breath. It’s only a matter of time until whoever’s beyond walks in on them and that’s problematic if it’s not one of the SAS crews. Lesion is the first to hop off, knocking Smoke aside as he rushes toward the bedroom. He gently lifts up a chair next to the bunker bed to block the door, then he realises that Smoke hasn’t followed in. What a hassle to move the chair away as quietly as possible and come back out to the living room area, and what does he see? Smoke in a star jumps pose to put on a show for the supposed rude intruder. Lesion attempts to pull his exhibitionist of a boyfriend back in the bedroom, but Smoke refuses by standing his ground.  _ James, this isn’t the time.  _ When the lock finally clicks, Lesion hauls the other man and shoves him the closet. A few clothing flops down the ground but since the entire dorm is far from being spotless clean, it wouldn’t be too out of place.

“Stay there.” Lesion points at finger at Smoke as if he’s hiding a disobedient mutt that’s out on loose. Of course Smoke is far from being anyone’s good boy, so the Brit does what naughty dogs to the best. Smoke swiftly stretches out and grapples on Lesion’s collar, to which Lesion puts up a fair amount of resistance until he slips on the off-white t-shirt and falls back. Smoke catches his lover and Lesion closes the wardrobe. In the cramped darkness, they hear the door being pushed open and muffled footsteps against the carpeted floor. 

“It’s fucking hot in here,” The agitated tone and distinct accent, “Why don’t these muppets  _ ever _ bring my jug back?” And that choice of word. She’s the perpetual thunderstorm with a chance of angry rant, Clash.

“Because you’re a-” Smoke’s snarky whisper is blocked by a sweaty pair of palms.

“Hey!” Lesion is quieter, “She might hear us.”

“And they drank all the tea. Gentlemen my arse.” More rustling and clanking. The two men can only guess whether she is destroying the entire kitchen due to her temper or cleaning up the mess like a half-good Samaritan.

“She’s too loud to hear us,” Smoke breathes into Lesion’s ears, “Which means, we can finish what we started before.”

“Are you serious?” Lesion judges the predicament they are in before he outwardly denies the suggestion. They’ve trapped themselves in a closet that’s a little narrow, but has plenty of room to move. Clash is continuing to make a racket, keeping herself busy and surrounded by noises, “Where did Baker and the rest of them go?”

“Possibly at a pub. Or even at the gym to join the Frenchies. They won’t be back anytime soon.” 

Lesion vaguely hears a click and a hiss. It becomes gradually louder into a roar which fills the entire room. He assume that Clash is boiling water with an electric kettle, “Good. We’ve got time.”

“Aw yes, babe.” Smoke crouches down to resume the oral, but he’s stopped yet again by Lesion’s thighs.

“No more of that,” Lesion pulls Smoke back up to their eye level. He rubs a knee on the other man’s hard-on and shifts to lock his leg around Smoke’s waist. 

“I thought you wanted this to be slower.” Smoke grins and bucks his hips up.

“We aren’t going to stay here. No more than half an hour.” That seals the deal for them. Lesion brings their faces together for a kiss that’s closer to a hungry devour. He pushes his ankle on Smoke’s waist, drawing the bulge closer to urge a prod on his rear that’s been built up for quite some time. 

“Lift your leg up and straddle me.” Smoke whispers dangerously close to the sensitive spot in Lesion’s ear, and this nearly made him gasp in ticklish surprise.

“What if I fall?”

“You won’t.” Smoke cut to the chase and lifts Lesion up by locking his arms under the buttocks. They wobble a little back and forth, but finds a balance thanks to Lesion pushing their weight down by placing his hands against the ceiling. By firmly placing Lesion’s back on the wall, Smoke finally unleashes the appetite that commands him to chomp on those collarbones and neck. Lesion also doesn’t hold back on low moans as the kettle still boils in deafening hiss. He writhes and tenses, all limbs tightening around Smoke’s entire upper torso. In the midst of their foreplay, Smoke juts his pelvis forward to support Lesion’s weight while hastily pulling Lesion’s pants down from behind. Just enough exposure to have the entrance bare. 

“Check my backpocket.” Lesion instructs and Smoke follows. A plastic packet with a circular indent; of course it’s a condom. 

“You got here all prepared, huh? Lovely.” Smoke smirks and quickly hands it over to Lesion. 

“It has been a while since our last fun time. And I always keep one just in case, especially when I'm around you.” Lesion rips it open and experly rolls it down on the erection that’s been stationed ready for far too long. Adding some natural lube has it glistening even in dim light, and that’s the last time Lesion sees it pointing towards him. The tip meets some resistance due to bodily reflex, but it relaxes as Smoke repeatedly pokes. Lesion can feel the length entering him slowly and unflinching, filling up the inside that has been longing for this exact kind of pressure against gravity. 

“Fuck,” Smoke let out of a low hum, “And I thought I hated heat.” 

“Shh. Don’t talk. Just do it.” Lesion bends his waist forward and snaps back, shifting his hips have Smoke’s dick slide in and out.

Smoke obeys by pushing the remaining length in, “Get ready.” 

Lesion loses his chance to reply as his whole body jumps up by a few centimetres. It starts out as a few pulses that sends pleasurable jolts to his brain. He can still hold the scream in muffled squeaks until Smoke quickens the pace that causes rapid slapping noise under his moist buttocks. “James, that’s too-” Lesion bites into Smoke’s shoulder when the dick digs in deeper and harsher, “I- Oh fuck-”

“Don’t clench too tight,” Smoke growls, “I’m far from cumming just yet.” Contrary to what he claims, Smoke accelerates the thrusts, which shakes Lesion’s resolve to be discreet. 

“I’m coming-” Lesion whines. He hardly controls his legs from stretching out, rigid in sensual high. Through blurry vision, he can see the clothes and hooks tapping against dangling foot that’s already tiptoed as he’s hardening the stomach and back muscles, instinctively syncing the rocking motion that’s caused by Smoke. Common sense and awareness are thrown out of the window, or more like out of the closet. A series of violent shoves, jarring spasms and a shudder from underneath are what Lesion can feel in his hazy consciousness. As his stomach rubs on Smoke’s, a patch of thin and slippery moisture makes him realise that he has climaxed as well. Smoke collapses on Lesion and let out a strained sigh to have them sliding down as gentle as possible. When they reach the floor, Lesion loosens every cell of his being but exerts and effort to have his arms around the man who is laying still against his shoulder. Euphoria freezes the time and it would have remained that way until the suffocating humidity distracts them from feeling too comfortable. Then Lesion flinches with a sliver of energy left in him as a horrifying realisation kicks in, “Why is it so quiet now?”

“Oh shit.” Smoke coughs but his voice remains hoarse. They focus to catch any sign of movement outside, but nothing can be heard. Nothing can be seen through the slit between the doors, so Smoke nudges it further. 

There’s no one in sight, so Lesion cautiously steps out while pulling his pants up. He surveys are area and nudges the gap wider. “She’s gone.”

“No way,” Smoke trudges out to check it out with his own eyes. She is indeed gone, uncannily quiet, and the kitchen is uncharacteristically clean and organised. It’s as if a cleaning fairy came by, except that certain fairy shares curses rather than blessings, “She’s really gone.”

“Seems like it.” Lesion turns around to plant a gentle kiss and shines a one-sided grin that’s cherished by his doting boyfriend.

“We should do this more in the future,” Smoke returns the kiss in French style, “Who knew risk makes you bolder than my balls?”

“Ha, funny,” Lesion scoffs, “But I guess it’s the price I pay for making you ‘cum’ too quick.”

“Hey! You were irresistible. Who holds it back when they chow down on hot and fresh buns?” Smoke places a friendly slap on Lesion’s butt, “Especially when they are steaming.”

“Don’t be too smug about making me sweat the same amount as you. I’ll be the last one to laugh when you gain armpit patches tomorrow for a morning run.” Lesion proceeds to walk into the dorm bedroom to find Smoke’s clothes.

“I’ll use you as towel, so don’t worry about me.” Smoke follows in and teases for a second helping. He closes the door and pulls Lesion into his bed, and we shall leave it up to them on deciding whether there will be a second round or a tame cuddle session with a little bit of foreplay here and there. It may be better for them to not notice a note written on the kitchen counter, which reads ‘NO <strike>RUNNING</strike> FUCKING IN THE <strike>HALLWAYS</strike> CLOSET.’ Truly, it’s a sigil of damnation, a curse that will put Lesion and even Smoke in shame. Let’s just say that ignorance is bliss while it lasts. Let these two idiots fool around in peace and bask in aftercare they deserve in this hot and toasty summer.


End file.
